Page 44 of What a Lord Wants

He’d been prepared for the painting to be finished and to never see her again. That was often the way with models. One and done, and he’d expected no less from her.

But he’d never suspected that her leaving would cause such physical pain and confusion. And worry.

“Your Lordship?”

He spun around, expecting the butler, but instead coming face to face with—

“Henry Winslow.”

Eve’s father stuck out his hand as he came forward into the room with all the confidence of a man who owned the world. Which was almost true, apparently. From what information Dom had managed to glean from Davies while the man dressed him that morning, Winslow might not own all the world, but he certainly possessed a great chunk of it.

“Welcome.” Winslow frowned. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We have not.” Dom smiled with a touch of chagrin as he shook the man’s hand. “Dominick Mercer, Lord Ellsworth.”

“A pleasure.” Winslow gestured for him to follow him down the hall. “I prefer to do all my business in the study.”

Dom nodded, understanding completely. “Because you want to keep your personal life separate from your business.”

With grin, Winslow slapped him on the back as the two strode into the oak-paneled room and corrected, “Because this is where I keep the best drink.”

Chuckling at that, Dom sat in the chair that Winslow indicated in front of the giant desk, from where the man ran the largest sole proprietorship in the empire. “You mix business with pleasure?”

“Businessispleasure.” At the little cabinet standing between large windows, Winslow poured two glasses from a crystal decanter filled with a caramel-colored liquor. He handed one to Dom before sinking into the leather chair behind the desk, then lifted the glass into the air. “The best bourbon in all of Europe, straight from the wilds of Kentucky. One of my ships delivered it to Portsmouth just last week.”

Dom frowned into the glass, not drinking.

Which offended Winslow. “Don’t tell me that you’re one of those English dandies who thinks he’s too good to drink American bourbon.”

“Not at all. It’s just…” When he saw Eve for the first time after the events of last evening, best that he was stone sober when he did. But perhaps it was better to let her father think he was simply being himself, a man known as the stodgiest peer in the Lords. “A bit early in the day to imbibe.”

Winslow laughed and took a long swallow. “It’s evening in China.”

Not wanting to offend him further, Dom raised the glass for a sip.

Winslow slumped down in his chair and rested his glass on his round belly as it jutted into the air. “What brings you here today?”

“I’ve come to call on Miss Winslow.”

The man’s eyes iced over, all friendliness vanishing. “Why?”

Nervousness spiked inside him.Good Lord. He felt like some young buck asking the man to court his daughter and afraid of finding himself on the wrong end of a dueling pistol.

He smiled to ease the sudden tension, but that did nothing to relax the hard expression on Winslow’s face. Neither did the swallow of bourbon and his mumbled comment about what fine quality it was. Not that he would know, never having tasted the stuff before in his life.

He threw an uneasy glance toward the door. Where the hell was the butler to tell him that he could see Eve?

Thiswas why he avoided unmarried misses. They came attached to fathers.

“I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Winslow last night at the Hawthorne ball.”And discovering that she wasn’t the woman I thought she was.“We had a long conversation about art, because we’d both stopped to admire the same painting.”Because she’d been posing nearly nude for me for the past six weeks.“She was interested in the piece and in learning more about painting.”As well as learning more about why I hadn’t told her that Vincenzo was also Ellsworth.“I’m a patron of the Royal Academy and am always happy to support it however I can.”Including creating a nude painting of your daughter that I had fully intended to display there for all of England to see. “Miss Winslow seemed to be equally supportive.”

The irony of that last was biting.

“Art? You’re here to discussart?” Disbelief dripped from Winslow’s voice. “With my daughter?”

Dom cleared his throat and took another swallow of bourbon. “I was hoping to discuss the Royal Academy’s upcoming summer exhibition with her.”

That was his excuse for being here, the one he’d thought of while rushing out the door of Mercer House, in preparation for a situation like this.